


Every Mile Is A Memory

by PrincipalCellist



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 1800s victuuri AU, Anxiety Disorder, Comfort, Hope, Hurt, I just started writing and couldn't stop even though I'm not sure where this is going, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Romance, SINnamon roll, WE'LL JUMP THAT CLIFF WHEN WE GET TO IT OKAY, don't worry they won't die of Dysentery, i don't think so anyway, kind of slow burn then BOOM everything at once, the Oregon Trail, victor is good at crafting, yuuri is just...so pure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-06 12:51:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12817923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincipalCellist/pseuds/PrincipalCellist
Summary: Traveling to Oregon isn't easy, especially if there are somethings you're trying to hide...however, the harder you have to struggle, the more you deserve. Just don't die of Dysentery.I'm not 100% sure where I'm taking this story so I'll just add tags as I go along.





	1. From Tough Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course I was playing Oregon Trail when I started writing this. As if there is any other explanation. Also, I am not a historian; I don't know everything about the 1800s, so please forgive me for mistakes! I'm learning.
> 
> Uh, this story will kind of skip around? As I said, I'm not completely sure where I'm going with this so strap yourselves in for a wild ride.

To a weary traveler, Hennisville seemed like an oasis full of ease and relief. It was located just west of the continental divide on the final stage of the cross-country journey of the Oregon Trail. It wasn’t a large town, but it was a permanent settlement that could’ve been described as possibly one of the first few cities of West America. It was basic, but had the essential comforts to draw smiles from new arrivals.

There was a church to pray in, to take a moment and thank God for safe passage. There was a butcher shop, a bakery, and a general store to replenish supplies. There was a blacksmith shop on the eastern edge of town for sales and repairs, with stables built next to it to rest weary horses and oxen, or to purchase new ones if the journey proved to be too much for the beasts. The town even had a good doctor if it wasn’t just the beasts who had taken ill.

There was a small inn with real beds and a decent kitchen if you were tired of sleeping under the canvas of your wagon or upon the rough, hard ground. There was a bank with a sheriff and two deputies set up right next to it to ensure the bank was not too tempting a target. The town was also home to a few other small businesses that had sprung up along the main street, all catering to travelers passing through. There was a saloon to quench your thirst which employed pretty ladies to quench other appetites.

Some never completed the long journey, and some never tried. Some were too afraid of the challenge it was to uproot their lives and start anew, and some were too wary of a life in a raw landscape. But some did accomplish the task, and those few were rewarded with a new life of possibility. After all, if you could cross the country and survive the Oregon Trail, you could to anything. While unforgiving, the Trail brought along the hopeful and the dreamers. It brought the adventurous.

Victor Nikiforov was nothing if not at least those.

For him, Hennisville offered a second chance at life. He was young, with a head full of fantasies and eyes sparkling. He'd left Russia to seek a place in America where he could be free from rules and prosecution. A place where he could truly be himself and be not only welcomed for it, but loved. A place he was able to love in return, unashamed.

But Victor had quickly discovered just how difficult the American Dream could be. The new country was not as friendly as he's previously been led to believe. And while his white face often opened doors, his obvious accent and strange flair seemed to make them shut once more. As years went by, life showed him its cruelty again and again, giving happiness and then snatching it away before he could even take it for granted. But Victor was stubborn, and he refused to lose. He stayed in America, not giving in. He struggled and eventually, he persevered.

Victor had always been good with his hands, building and crafting things - so he started his own business with what meager funds he had left. When his shop grew in popularity, he was able to buy out the blacksmith's shop. Then, making more income with his own craft and the shop, he was able to hire others to help him build bigger, greater things. Another inn, another police station, and even a nice café where travelers could relax and eat their fill. Victor soon became one of the most influential and prosperous men in town - one who, to the other residents' disbelief, never took a wife (though many women tried to give him the time of day.)

Finally secure, he even tried to keep in touch with his family back in Russia, but he worried that they thought he was dead. With every letter he sent, there was never a reply. Perhaps they were just still upset with him. Maybe he had done the wrong thing, leaving so suddenly as he did. But he knew eventually they would forgive, because they could understand why he left. So he kept writing letter after letter, hoping one day someone would send one back.

Most importantly, though hardships had taught him lesson after lesson, though he still had to hide pieces of himself from his neighbors, he kept dreaming. He kept the flame of hope alive in his heart, though each day it felt more and more like an ember, surrounded by stone walls.

* * *

Katsuki Yuuri watched his father from his seat at the back of the wagon, steepling his fingers in his agitation. Three days ago when the family had stopped to make camp for the night, they had been robbed by three bandits on horseback. The Katsuki's had already endured much to travel across the country, and to be so close to the end and have all that was left of their wealth stolen from them was an unbearable cruelty. 

His mother had said that they were lucky to be alive, and Yuuri knew better than to argue that. If it hadn't been for the noisy approach of the family traveling a bit behind them, the bandits might have added murder to their list of offences. It was no shocking news to the Katsuki's that immigrants were not viewed with a friendly gaze, and Yuuri found it strange that a country could make such promise of equality and safety and yet still be so cold.

In the end, the bandits had taken everything they deemed had value and rode off, cackling in mad laughter as if destroying lives was somehow, for some twisted reason, the grandest joy.

Since that night, it was like Yuuri's insides just twisted tighter and tighter, until he was folding in on himself. There was a deep sadness that life could be so cruel and a directionless anger that solidified in his stomach. When he'd felt this uneasy before, he been able to sooth himself and calm his to-fast thoughts. But this time, he would not be appeased. His parents both sensed this, but Yuuri wanted nothing to do with their soft, patient words. Their boundless forgiveness even to those who had hurt them somehow seemed wrong this time. He didn't know how to keep smiling now; he was tired and hungry and missed home.

Yuuri's father had asked him if he wanted to get revenge, but Yuuri wasn't sure about that, either. He didn't have the desire to chase down the bandits and get justice with his own two hands, but – he just –he wished he was able to do something about their situation. Instead, all he could do was sit there, twitching and grumpy and arms aching to do anything productive.

Yuuri heard the distant noises of animals, and he rose up to his knees so he could lean through the canvas opening. He peered at the town on the horizon, heart lifting at the thought of being out of the wagon for a few days and eating some real food. Slowly, the town grew closer, the first shop coming into focus. There was a rough sign announcing **BLACKSMITH** then, hanging on the wall next to it, a larger sign in a lovely metal-worked frame. In the center of it was a name painted in such elegant script, Yuuri had a hard time reading it despite his proficiency in English: _Victor Nikiforov._

He tried at guessing the nationality of the name and wondered (not for the first time) how many generations it took for the _immigrant_ status went away. Yuuri had come to America on a ship soon after turning 18, then lived on the north-eastern coast until his family hit the Oregon Trail like many other settlers. He was now 24, had adopted America as his new home, was there with every legal right as a natural-born American had - but still he was an immigrant. He didn't think that in itself was a bad thing, but they way others hissed it told a different story. He was an immigrant, but when they said it, it was as if he were instead being branded as _criminal_ or even _savage._

He wanted to ask his father to stop the wagon so he could find the blacksmith and ask them what life has been like. He wanted to talk to someone like him - but the Katsuki's were already passing by the shop and continuing deeper into town.

 _Later,_ Yuuri promised himself, finally looking away from the foreign name.


	2. Elastic Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to have Victor say he was in Idaho, but I found out that Idaho didn't actually become a state until 1890 and the Oregon Trial was earlier than that so yeah, whOOPS. That was nearly a mistake. (Though does it really matter when Hennisville isn't a real town??)
> 
> (The answer is yes. Yes, being as historically accurate as I can be still matters even though I made Hennisville up and this is a work of fiction.)
> 
> This is harder than I thought it would be. The game didn't fully prepare me for this. ٩̋(๑˃́ꇴ˂̀๑)

Yuuri's eyes were full of sparkles as he looked into a dress shop display window, gazing at the beautiful fabrics set along a table. Oh, what he wouldn't give to have enough money to buy even just a foot of fabric – though he supposed it would be a useless thing to own since he'd lost his sewing kit only a week into their journey. But still, just to have the fabric and stare at the colors would've been enough. One in particular reminded him of of the enormous lake they used to live near, shimmering and blue. Gently, he set his palm against the window where it lay, thinking maybe if he tried hard enough, the fabric would turn into the water he so sorely missed and he could just dive –

"Son, come with me." Toshiya called, and Yuuri jerked out of his fantasy, straightening so he could jog back to the wagon. "Hiroko, watch the wagon."

"Be careful," she said, setting a hand on her husband's cheek. "Come back safe."

The men smiled back at her and headed down the street, examining the store fronts. After a few, Toshiya made a quiet grunt and nodded to one in particular. Curious, Yuuri followed him up the stairs and inside, carefully shutting the door behind them.

"I'll be back." Toshiya said. "I need to speak with the owner."

Yuuri just nodded and took to looking around. There was quite a good variety of items for sale. The door suddenly opened behind him and he quickly stepped out of the way as a woman with sharp features entered. She gave Yuuri a sour look and strode past him to the back of the store where a female stood behind the counter. A little perturbed from the look, Yuuri wandered, looking at the things being offered but knowing he couldn't very well purchase any of them. He stopped by a pile of soap and lifted one to his nose, shocked when it smelled of fresh vanilla instead of some heavy perfume. It was very pleasant.

"Another letter?!" A loud, shrill cry came from the back, followed immediately by a hushing noise. Startled, Yuuri glanced over and saw the woman from before standing next to what looked like a younger version of herself. The older saw Yuuri looking and tucked an envelope out of sight in the folds of her dress, her other hand coming to rest on her hip.

"Listening in on someone's conversation is most rude!" She snapped.

Yuuri shook his head, eyes widening like he was confused.  
“わかりせん。あなたは日本語を話せますか？”

The sour look returned and she turned her nose up. "Barbarians." She hissed before turning back to her sister and saying, "An immigrant."

"Just ignore him. Read me the letter!" The other replied, reaching to the envelope. "I can't believe he continues to send them even when he never gets a reply!"

"Perhaps he has more hope than sense."

Yuuri pretended to look at the items on the counter, continuing to eavesdrop. Normally, of course, he never would have been so rude, would have moved away to avoid conflict. But it seemed he was a witness to a crime; the older sister had obviously stolen someone's mail, and it seemed she had a habit of doing so. He heard the rip of her opening the envelope and the rustle of unfolding paper.

_"Dear Yakov,"_ she read, _"I hope this letter finds you well. Has Yura grown much, or is he still a tiny, angry kitten? (Please don't let him see that, or he may decide to remain at me even longer.) I'm doing quite well for myself here, though I do miss you terribly. I'm still in Hennisville, and this town is quickly growing! It's still lovely even with the added business, in its own way. It's peaceful here at least, and I feel like lately I can breath again. Things are always smooth sailing, but I am hopeful for the future. I've grown quite a bit, I would like to think. I wonder if you would recognize me now. It's been nearly six years since I left Russia, but it also feels like no time at all. There isn't a day where I don't think of home or you and wonder—"_

"When is he going to stop lamenting about home and get n with his life?" The younger sister interrupted in frustration. "Why did he leave if he misses it so much?"

"Well, when will you finally work up the nerve to tell him you want him?" The older snapped back. "You can't be angry about him feeling lonely if you never make a move!"

"Sometimes I think you only want me to marry him so you can get closer."

"As if you don't want him so desperately!" They both cast a glance around nervously, but Yuuri had already moved a little further away, face cast down at the shelves. "Besides," she continued, "you know that the man I married can’t give me a child. You wouldn’t refuse my request, would you? I just want a son.”

"Sharing a handsome man like that would be the most difficult thing I do for you, dear sister."

"I think Victor could make a meal of us both!" The older squealed, and they both dissolved into a fit of giggles. Yuuri's stomach, however, was flipping. He knew of the cruelty of others, but this was appalling. To toy with another's mail to family was terrible, but debating on whether that same person could be shared like some toy in an already-decided game was even worse! It made his skin crawl and he bit down on his lip so hard, it hurt. He would rather be robbed a hundred times over than let something like this pass.

"Yuuri! We're going." Toshiya said. Yuuri took a deep, shuddering breath and forced a smile.

"I'll be right there." He replied. When he turned to the two sisters, they were both staring at him in open shock.

"Barbarians." He said, somehow making the words sound more like a curse. He turned and walked away, head high and jaw set even though his heart felt like it was trying to escape through his throat. He and his father both left the store.

"Where to now?" Yuuri wondered.

"We'll have to go see the blacksmith." Toshiya said tersely. Yuuri's heart stuttered when he wondered if the blacksmith was the same Victor the two women were talking about. His only experience with blacksmithing was back home, where the man had been large and loud and dirty and smelly. That made it hard to think that the two Victor's were the same man, since the sisters had said he was handsome. But how many Russian Victor's could be in one town? And Yuuri would not let the poor man continue to live in ignorance.

"Welcome back," Hiroko smiled brightly when the men approached.

"We're going to visit the blacksmith." Toshiya said, hulling himself up onto the wagon. "He might be the only honest, decent man in this place." Yuuri grimaced. His father must have heard the women, too. Either that or the shop owner was not kind either.

They rode the short distance back to the edge of town in silence. The wide doors of the blacksmith's shop were now open, and he could see the dark silhouette of a man swinging a hammer down against glowing hot metal. He looked fairly tall, but Yuuri could not say for certain whether he was handsome or not without a better look. He quickly hopped out of the wagon, about to follow his father.

"Just wait here, Yuuri." Toshiya said, setting a hand down on his son's shoulder. Yuuri deflated and gave him an unhappy look, but didn't argue.

From their place, Yuuri and Hiroko could see the dark shapes of the two men speaking. Toshiya bowing just slightly, a habit he would never completely give up, and the other man gesturing animatedly with his hands. Then, the blacksmith set down his hammer and the two men started toward the doors. Yuuri found himself in a nervous state, shoving his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose with a finger. Here was a man who was possibly the unknowing victim of a crime, of a conspiracy, and how on Earth would Yuuri bring it up without making a horrible first-impression? Should he just go in a blaze of glory and admit that he was eavesdropping? He didn't even know the sisters names... would Victor even believe him? Yuuri settled a hand on his mother's round shoulder, hoping it was enough to keep himself steady. She gave him a kind, somewhat confused smile and he felt a surge of confidence.

Right. It didn't matter how bad he looked. The real victim was Victor and he had the right to know.

As the men stepped out of the building, Yuuri was surprised to see that the blacksmith was skinnier than he was expecting. Still brawny, but not to any extreme. The sunlight reflected off of Victor's silver hair, reminding Yuuri briefly of moonlight. It was trimmed short save for a clump that fell over his brow. He was flushed and sweaty from work and had some soot on his cheek and shirt, but Yuuri knew right away that this was the very same Victor that the two women had been sighing over. If Yuuri were a women, he'd be doing the exact same (the swooning, that is. Not the mail theft.) Victor was a very attractive man, indeed, with blue blue eyes that held a depth that Yuuri had not seen before. Not deep as how his mother's were, overflowing with kindness and love, but deep as a lake that had frozen over. There was kindness in Victor's expression, but also a sadness that couldn't quite be covered up. Yuuri regretted ever feeling bad about his life, because this man seemed to know a new, true kind of suffering that Yuuri had missed out on.

And here he was, about to give Victor more bad news.

"This is my wife and my son, Hiroko and Yuuri." Toshiya introduced, gesturing to them both. Victor's eyes swept over her and fell on Yuuri, smile widening.

"My! I have a Yuri back home, as well!" He said brightly, accent curling over his words. Yuuri, for some inexplicable reason, flushed and turned his eyes away.

_I'm an idiot!_ He thought, wincing at his own impolite action. But it was too late to fix it - Toshiya was already leading him around to the back of the wagon.

"These are the tools I wanted you too look at, if you would." He said. Victor lifted an ax, eyeing it. No doubt wondering how the Katsuki's managed to get a crack all the way down the middle of it.

"Toshiya?" Hiroko asked curiously, turning to peer into the wagon.

“There’s no chance of us setting up a farm or anything since those bandits took our money.” Toshiya explained. “We’re going to have to continue traveling until the next city. I’ll try to get a job as a book keeper or an accountant."

"I can work!" Yuuri said indignantly. "Father, I can do it, you're too—"

"Old?" Toshiya questioned, and though his smile was amused, Yuuri felt like a child scolded.

He jerked back, pressing his lips together before—  
"No, not that. I just— You act like you're the only one - I'm able to—"

"I understand, Yuuri." His father continued. "But I cannot stand by and do nothing while my family struggles. We both will find some work, but we need some money to get us food and supplies. A little extra to cover the period before we acquire jobs. So, Mr. Nikiforov is going to see what he can give us for these tools." At the sound of his name, Victor had looked up, giving Yuuri a little finger waggle.

Yuuri blinked, feeling oddly confused in the face of this news. "Why are you doing this for us?" He blurted, unable to believe that a blacksmith would actually buy their old, beaten tools.

Victor paused, looking as if he were considering the question seriously.

"There is more good in the world than you think." He replied simply, finally looking away and holding the old ax as if it were made of gold and not chipped, rusted iron. He sounded as if he knew what he was talking about, and despite everything, Yuuri wanted to believe it.

But he really couldn't.


End file.
